For elite endurance runners, getting fit usually means being leaner and lighter. But what's good for shaving seconds off race times doesn't necessarily represent a healthy or sustainable body type. Two-time Olympian Ryan Hall knows this well. He pushed his body to its performance limit from age 13 to his retirement this past January at 33. The lanky 5'10” pro usually...
This article originally appeared on www.mensjournal.com: How Ryan Hall Beat Low-T and Gained 40 Pounds of Muscle
The Daughter is a drama about family relationships, with a brilliant central performance by Paul Schneider. As an actor, physical appearance is more important than you may think – something Schneider knows all too well…
I'd say I'm a six. If 10 is Dolph Lundgren, then I feel like a six. My highest has been a seven or an eight, but my life has not been one of testing my body, you know?
I mean there's a lot of sh*t that I should do! It's funny, I feel like I never got the memo on that one. Today the standards are ridiculously high – if someone is meant to be “normal” in a film; in real life they're in fantastic shape, and if in the film they're supposed to be in great shape; in real life they're in alien, unnatural, amazing bionic shape. I'll usually buy a book about fitness and not read it, and then do a clean sweep of the obvious offenders in the kitchen. Although when I'm in a movie, my role is often showing that any man can get the girl – you don't have to be good-looking or in perfect shape. I feel like I'm there to link the normal guys to the Ryan Reynolds of the world. You don't have to be like that – look at me, I can do these things too…
You just have to make the future self more important than the present self. The present self just wants to sit and watch Long Way Round documentaries over and over again. I think once I can treat myself the same way I treat other people, then I'll look like Dolph Lundgren.
Usually what gets me into the gym is the sheer terror of a sex scene next to a gorgeous woman. It seems to be that the main reason you go to the gym is because you want to look like you belong in this club full of really good-looking people, who you feel like you don't belong with anyway…
The Daughter is in cinemas May 27
I don't know mate – can't say I'm a massive fitness freak to be honest. I've played in a couple of charity football matches at Wembley, and running the length of that pitch is pretty difficult because it's massive, so I'd probably put that up there. Simon [Webbe] from Blue was on our team – he's a very good player – he probably should have been a footballer instead of a musician, that way he'd have saved us from his music, which would have been perfect for everyone.
I got jumped at a football match at Sheffield and had a bad back for a while. I attempted to play football on the Sunday with said bad back – it just looked and felt horrific, made me feel like I was about 83, it was bloody awful.
I ripped my toenail off once; I used that as an excuse when there was essentially nothing wrong with me. I basically kicked a cupboard and my toenail fell off – believe me, it looked awful but it's not a reason to not go to the gym, I could have swam or something.
I took my little boy for a walk last week, and I forgot to take his pram or his sling, and ended up carrying him for like four miles on my shoulders, which I thought were pretty hard, pretty solid…
When I went on my mate's stag do in Hamburg, I got absolutely battered and just felt like death, so I didn't drink for maybe two weeks then. I also stopped drinking when I was 18, for about a year and a half. Because I'm a big lad I used to get served from when I was 14, so I'd been drinking for a number of years before I gave up. I'm not a massive alcoholic, I'm more of a smoker, but I do like a tipple.
Yeah, I bought an exercise bike from the shop across the street, took it upstairs to the attic bedroom where me and my wife used to sleep, stuck it in there, and she was like, “What the f**k is that?” I'm like, “It's an exercise bike,” she's like, “Yeah, from about 1983.” So it's absolutely knackered, it cost me £20 and I used it once, before deciding it was rubbish.
Definitely – it's pretty high octane. We pretty much have it from the word go, the whole crowd goes off and everyone is bouncing. So I'm sweating my t*ts off when I come off, which is enormously sexy.
Reverend and The Makers will be playing at this year's Isle of Wight Festival on June 9-12, tickets available at isleofwightfestival.com
Oh man, there's all kinds, but I saw Evel Knievel as a superhero – even though he was real, I didn't see him that way. It was pretty amazing for me, because I actually ended up becoming friends with him for about 15 years, I talked with him a lot and rode some bikes with him.
One person who really influenced me was [professional skateboarder] Jeff Phillips. I was on tour with him in '88, and when you're on tour with people you kind of memorise everybody's run, you know what they're going to do and you anticipate every wall they ride. However, every time I watched Jeff, he would never do the same thing, and he was the only person I could never anticipate. I was so adamant about figuring out my run before I dropped in – I would even have a cheat sheet on my bike to tell me which tricks to do. He just let his skating create itself, and I think that really changed my outlook on riding. It made a big difference in my life.
Even though BMXing has grown throughout the years, it's still a very niche thing and remains a tight community of riders. Everybody looks out for everybody, and every event I go to I see people trying to help others to believe and live the dream. People like Mike Vincent and Stephen Murray stand out though – one became blind and one became paraplegic, but they still give back and inspire people to never give up. It kind of gets me – whenever I'm beat up or sore, I think “This ain't nothing compared to these other guys…”
It's almost more like who is like that. With mostly everybody, it comes out in their riding or skating – it's an expression. For instance, people like John Parker – he's one of the most gnarly BMX dudes ever, and would do things that nobody else would do, and still haven't done. You see this monster on the bike, then you talk to him and he has this high voice and he's very shy and quiet – he just wants a cup of tea!
I'm kind of the poster child for BMX injuries – I've lost my spleen, lost a lot of blood, been in a coma. I think my wife has been that person for me, because I've nearly flatlined in her arms and she's stuck with me. Once, I slammed on a ramp and I lost eight months of my memory – it's almost like your brain is a hard drive and it has to be refragmented. You have to keep thinking of old memories and talking to people, but it takes time to remember things. Even though it can be really discouraging, my wife is patient and supportive of my passions.
[BMX pioneer] Dennis McCoy is turning 50 this year. Just two years ago we head-on collided – I broke my sternum and he slashed his groin area so deep that all four tendons that hold his thigh muscle to his pelvis snapped. I had a photo and I had to take it out of my phone because it ruined my day whenever I saw it. But he came back the next year and rode The X Games – he's still throwing down now and going big. He's over five years older than I am, and ever since I was a teenager, I'd be like “Man, I've still got five years at least, because I know Dennis is still going”. He's always been my barometer.
It's probably Tony Hawk, he's always given us jobs when we needed them, and he's always trimmed some fat off for his bros. He gives a lot back to the greater good and works towards the need to foster more people by giving them access to be able to ride and skateboard; to change their lives like it's changed ours.
Hoffman will appear at NASS festival from July 8-10 for the BMX World Championships, which are back in the UK for the first time in 28 years. nassfestival.com
The past week has been filled with spectacular victories and heartbreaking failures for Everest climbers. Our favorite guy on Snapchat, Cory Richards, made his first summit without supplemental oxygen Tuesday morning. Lhakpa Sherpa broke her own record for the most summit...
This article originally appeared on www.mensjournal.com: A Vegan Dies on Everest. Was Her Diet to Blame?
The advent of summer, in theory at least, brings with it the glory of sun-filled days filled with barbecues, trips to the seaside, and all manner of other enjoyable outdoor pursuits.
It seems churlish to dampen any enthusiasm for that time spent in the sunshine, but as with almost everything enjoyable, there are health concerns to consider. Chief among which is the time-honoured battle between your vitamin D requirements and the risk of skin cancer.
Sunshine is the biggest source of vitamin D, and given the long, gloomy winters that are a feature of the UK, its inhabitants can really struggle to get enough of the stuff, to the point where around a fifth of adults in the UK may be deficient according to the National Institute for Clinical Excellence.
Vitamin D is essential for healthy bones and teeth, and most easily acquired from direct sunlight between March and October, from 11am to 3pm. However, that is also the time you're most likely to burn and put yourself at the greatest risk of skin cancer.
According to Cancer Research UK, eight in ten cases of melanoma – the most serious form of skin cancer – could be prevented by employing a little more common sense in the sun. Too much UV radiation damages the DNA in your skin, if enough of this damage builds up, it can lead to skin cancer.
A 10 to 15 minute stroll at lunchtime with your forearms uncovered will be enough for most people to get all the vitamin D they need in summer, and won't put you at substantial risk of sunburn unless global warming turns the UK into a tropical paradise.
However, clearly there are going to be summer days when you want to spend longer outside and staying safe then becomes a more rigorous and quite annoying affair. Generous and frequent applications of sunscreen – at least factor 15 – combined with trips to the shade and covering up are the best bets for burn prevention.
RECOMMENDED: Is Sunbathing Asking for Trouble?
Aside from vitamin D, there have been many other benefits ascribed to the sun's powerful rays over the years, ranging from improved mood to protection against and alleviation of the symptoms of multiple sclerosis.
The Karolinska Institute in Sweden went further still; suggesting its study on 30,000 women determined that avoiding the sun could kill you. During the 20-year study, the researchers found that those who avoided the sun were twice as likely to die from all causes compared to those with the highest sun exposure, and suggested that in countries with low solar intensity (such as the UK) very restrictive advice about going out in the sun could be harmful to health.
There's growing recognition of the toll depression can take on men, but before we tell the stories of men who have found techniques and activities that helped them, Jane Powell, chief executive of CALM (Campaign Against Living Miserably), the charity dedicated to preventing male suicide, explains why “manning up” is not a solution.
Men are subject to the same problems as women, such as break-ups, health and money worries and media pressure to look good and be successful. “But when things start to go wrong for men, people tell them to, 'man up,' or, 'deal with it',” she explains. “Society's expectation is that they'll be strong and silent. The result is that many unhappy men are angry and frustrated – they either lash out or withdraw and drink alcohol to damp down their feelings.”
However, it's vitally important when life looks bleak, Powell emphasises, to tell someone else what you're going through in order to gain perspective. “It's helpful to hear that what you're feeling is actually pretty common,” she says. “It's fine to seek help – it's not a judgement of you or your value.”
CALM runs a confidential helpline (open from 5pm till midnight seven days a week) on 0800 58 58 58 for nationwide calls and 0808 802 5858 for London. thecalmzone.net
Joining the British Army was an easy decision for Aki Lalani. Driven, intelligent and fit, he had taken part in gruelling marathons and loved being outdoors. More than that, because his father had come to the UK in the '60s as a refugee from Uganda, he felt passionately about giving something back to the country that had rescued his family.
So when he graduated from medical school in 2005, he signed up as a junior doctor at a military hospital in Surrey. Three years later, after officer training at Sandhurst and a course in battlefield medicine, he was posted to Afghanistan. It was daunting but Lalani remained confident he had made the right choice and put himself forward for the Parachute Regiment (Paras), one of the toughest regiments in the Army.
“The Americans have a saying, 'Go big or go home,'” he explains. “I felt privileged to be able to help these guys.” In Afghanistan, however, the reality of war hit home. He found himself the sole medical officer for 150 people, stationed in an area of opium farming. There were landmines everywhere and gun-battles raged for 18 hours at a time.
The temperature outside was 52 degrees Celsius and soldiers had to patrol the area several times a day with 60lb of kit on their back. Usually, they only slept between two and four hours a night.
On top of that was the emotional strain of being away from home – Lalani was newly married – and witnessing death and injury on a daily basis with no space to grieve.
“As the doctor, I knew everybody in the unit and I was the one who had to zip them into the body bag and send them home when they died,” he recalls. “One guy died in my arms under fire. Half his head had been shot away so all I could do was give him morphine and say the Lord's Prayer. There was nothing anyone could have done, but I blamed myself and it took me several years to come to terms with it.”
Unsurprisingly, back in Surrey six months later and working at the military hospital, Lalani was finding it difficult to cope. Outwardly, he was managing but inside he felt desperate. At home he was edgy and withdrawn and though his wife tried to get him to talk, the marriage broke down under the strain.
One day he was inserting a drip into a patient and had a flashback, where an image of the barracks in Afghanistan appeared unbidden in front of him. Realising he needed help, he approached a psychiatrist colleague who diagnosed post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and signed him off sick.
“There I was, living back at my parents' house with no job, no marriage and my baby daughter taken away from me,” he admits. “I was still beating myself up. At one point, I thought, 'What's the point of living?' but what stopped me from killing myself was my daughter. I didn't want her to grow up without a dad.”
The psychiatrist prescribed medication and EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitisation and Reprocessing therapy) a proven method of helping people recover from trauma. These, Lalani says, helped take the edge off his distress.
As he gradually started to feel better, he came upon an unlikely therapy for a soldier. His aunt had studied Reiki, a method of gentle, spiritual healing where “universal energy” is supposedly channelled through the practitioner's hands and into the patient. Although it has its origins in Buddhism, Reiki fits in with any belief system and, it is said, anyone can learn to do it.
“I was a complete sceptic. When I was a student, my mum told me she was going to have a treatment and I told her she was wasting her money,” he chuckles. “But my aunt pestered me to try it so I did, just to keep her quiet and I was blown away by how relaxed it made me feel. That night I slept better than I had in a long time.”
Astonished by how much Reiki helped him, Lalani trained as a practitioner himself and now runs his own clinic in Guildford, treating adults and children and training people to use it themselves. The anguish of the past is firmly behind him, he says, and life is good again.
“Reiki is like having an energetic hug,” he explains. “The good thing about using it on men is that they don't have to talk. Sometimes going over and over what's happened to you can keep the situation going in your mind. With Reiki, you can just lie there while the practitioner senses where to put their hands.
“I get far more satisfaction from this than working as a doctor,” he confesses. “I know people's names and I can spend time with them. So many people who go to their GP want to offload, but the doctor can only give them five minutes.”
Lalani also gives talks on his experiences in Afghanistan to the British Legion where he is amazed at the number of soldiers who come forward with similar experiences.
“There's a failure in the Army to fully recognise PTSD, which I think reflects the general population's attitude to mental health,” he comments. “I received just £600 compensation for losing my livelihood, my marriage and my health. I would have got more for losing two fingers.”
He recommends that anyone feeling desperately unhappy or anxious should seek advice from their GP as soon as possible. “But there may be people reading this who are in a grey area where they don't feel ill but they don't feel well, either,” he says.
“I would suggest those people start by addressing their basic, physiological needs. Eat properly, take moderate exercise and don't beat yourself up if you don't feel like talking,” he advises. “Remember you're doing the best you can. Look for something to help you move forward, whether that's psychotherapy, acupuncture, sport, or whatever – we're all different. Be confident that you will find something that works for you.”
Ollie Aplin didn't have an easy childhood. His mum, a single parent, suffered from bipolar disorder and life at home was often chaotic and unpredictable. On several occasions she tried to kill herself.
By the time Aplin was 15, he was suffering from anxiety and panic attacks but refused help, believing that discussing his family problems would be betraying his mother.
Tragically, when he was 19, she succeeded in taking her own life. Not long afterwards, Aplin found himself in the grip of a complete mental and emotional breakdown.
“It was the strangest, most terrifying experience of my life,” he explains. “I woke up in the middle of the night and sat bolt upright with a panic attack. But it wouldn't shift,” he continues. “I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, I would break down in tears and I was having hallucinations. I thought I had lost my mind.”
Finally, he sought help from a counsellor that, he says, changed his life. Not only did the therapist listen to him and help him make sense of what he had been through, but she also introduced him to journalling.
More than keeping a diary, journalling is about documenting your feelings as a way of understanding yourself better. Aplin, who lives in Brighton, found the practice so helpful that he continues it to this day.
“The first time I tried it, I didn't know what to write about and I sat there in front of a blank page,” he admits. “The counsellor helped me work out what to ask myself and gave me a list of emotions to help me choose a topic.”
Keen to encourage others to take it up, Aplin, a graphic designer, has developed his own workbook-style journal for men that is for sale online. Thirty tasks of differing intensity such as, “What Are Your Goals?” or, “Write a Letter to a Loved-One”, show tentative journallers how they might begin to connect with their own feelings.
“Journalling is a way of keeping myself on track,” he concludes. “I would say to other men, if you don't want to buy a journal, go and get a cheap pad from the supermarket. It's worth a go.”
Rafe has suffered from bi-polar disorder for more than half his life, a mental health condition characterised by extreme “highs” and “lows”. In his darkest moments, he tried to kill himself.
Happily, these days his life is on an even keel – he is due to get married next year. He has been helped in part, he says, by psychotherapy and medication, though at times he felt like a guinea pig as doctors experimented with different drugs and dosages.
However, 18 months ago, he came across Equine Assisted Psychotherapy (EAP) which, he says, is undoubtedly the best treatment he has ever received. EAP is a practice where a client is encouraged to interact with a horse in a variety of ways. This happens under the supervision of a horse expert and a mental health practitioner. No riding is involved.
The theory is that because horses are sensitive to human emotions, they can mirror a person's behaviour and highlight problems. These issues are then talked over with the psychotherapist with the aim of finding ways of coping with life.
“I've always loved being around horses but working with them in this way adds another dimension,” Rafe, who lives in Sussex, comments. “It's difficult to explain how or why it works but it's magical. It's somehow like having a creature looking into your soul.
“Horses don't care what car you drive or what house you live in, they will just be there for you, he continues. “It's like having someone there to hold your hand. Part of getting better is having a sense of control and finding ways to help yourself,” he concludes, “though it takes time to get to that point. Talking about how you feel is the most important factor.”
To outside onlookers, electrician Jake McManus has everything going for him. Happily married with two grown-up children, he has a good social life, a mortgage and his own business.
But despite this, he has struggled with feeling low for most of his life, set in motion, he believes, by the death of his mother when he was a child. And although he has had help on-and-off from psychologists over the years, the sadness would never quite shift.
“I think because I hadn't found anything to make me feel more positive, I just went on collecting issues over the years,” he comments.
McManus, who lives in Wigan, hit his lowest period in 2009 when a good friend committed suicide. Life became even more stressful as the recession hit and work started to dry up, leaving him anxious that he might lose his house.
“I began to question my existence and I was finding it hard to leave the house,” he says. “At times, I was delusional. I even thought my dog was out to get me!”
But then, on a family holiday to Andalusia in Spain for his fortieth birthday, he got talking to some other holidaymakers who told him the area was good for rock climbing. A few weeks later he returned to try it for himself and spent four hours clambering up a mountain.
“I sat there at the top in complete disbelief that I had made it,” McManus remembers. “At that moment, something clicked. I knew climbing would help me.”
Part of the appeal, he believes, is that when someone is climbing, they are absorbed in the moment, using their whole body and all their senses. Afterwards, they are tired, hungry and either exhilarated or disappointed, depending on how the climb has gone, leaving little room to dwell on their worries.
McManus now climbs as often as he can and has set up a website to promote mental health and adventure to others. “You might have problems, but you still need to try and have fun. You need to have a laugh,” he advises.
“Five years ago, I hit a wall,” says John, an artist and workshop facilitator. “My father-in-law, who I was close to, died. I couldn't sleep, I had mood swings and some days, I couldn't get out of the front door because I was overwhelmed by all the things I needed to do.”
His GP diagnosed anxiety and depression and sent him to a therapy group, which, John says, helped. He also went for individual help from a private psychiatrist who prescribed medication.
“I came to realise that I'd been suffering from these conditions all my life, probably triggered by my dad dying when I was seven,” he explains. “Looking back, I could see many other times when I had, 'hit a wall'.”
John, who lives in Lancashire, also joined a local community drumming class, which he found enormously helpful. Rhythm was part of his make-up – he'd bashed pots and pans as a young child and had been a drummer in rock bands on-and-off for most of his adult life – yet something about drumming with other people, he felt, encouraged healing.
“People talk about the energy release of drumming and that is certainly part of it,” he concedes. “But there's something more mysterious than that in a group. I think humans have an in-built, primitive need to drum and it connects people on a very deep level. Now, if I don't do drumming on a regular basis, the tension builds up.”
John now works as a facilitator himself, helping to run a Lottery-funded project entitled, “Drum Your Way Out of Depression”. Participants play together on African-style drums and use small percussion items like cymbals and bells.
“People worry about getting the beat 'wrong' but that's not possible,” he says. “Everyone finds their own rhythm and slots in. It helps you feel part of the world.”
For information on Drum Your Way Out of Depression, see batcow.co.uk/tidalbeats
